


Whatever you need me to be

by orphan_account



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Before 4x07, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, No Beta, POV First Person, Pseudo-Incest, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25654882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Elliot’s at his worst — in prison — and finally finds out Mr. Robot is nothing like an enemy. He might actually even bring some comfort.
Relationships: Elliot Alderson & Mr. Robot, Elliot Alderson/Mr. Robot
Kudos: 14





	Whatever you need me to be

**Author's Note:**

> I’m pretty obsessed with this show!! Wrote this for my own comfort, please apologize if it’s not of great quality. Also, let me know what you think? It takes place somewhere between S02E06 and S02E07 (contextualized before 4x07)  
> 

Hello, friend. Are you there?

It’s been a while we don’t talk.

I’m sorry to get back to you. I didn’t want you to see me in this situation, but never mind.

Yeah, I know. You don’t mind.

You’ve seen me in bad shape before, but I’ll tell you, not like this. Just not like this.

The air is sharp. Do you feel it too? It’s like I’ve been lying here for ages. I gasp for air, but it’s pointless. My lungs try so hard to work for themselves, but this is too much.

They’ve been damaged for a while now, and all we can do is wait for death; it’s certain, it’s coming. I can feel it.

The pain spreads all over my body, like a disease. It’s infected. My veins struggle to deliver some blood to the injured organs that fail to function. These muscles also try to work on their own, shivering. Yet, I can’t move.

I’m stuck, and I know what you’re thinking: it’s all my fault.

If only I had listened to _him_.

If only I had avoided sneaking up on Ray’s website, if only I hadn’t been thrown in this jail, things wouldn’t look so bad right now.

I wouldn’t be struggling for life, but hoping for death so badly, just as if it was the greatest, the most expected anaesthetic I have always longed for.

Please don’t feel sorry for me.

I probably deserve it. He was right, I was wrong. That’s why I end up weeping here. Trying to ignore the dripping from the ceiling that eventually hits my face, and it’s the only thing besides the pain that brings me the certainty I am live. Hopeless, wet as fuck in my own blood, shivering in cold and pain, but alive.

And as the dripping finally stops and I realize there’s a shape forming upon my head, I just close my eyes. I know he’s coming; he’s here.

What took him so long?

He always shows up, not when I claim for him, but when he feels I need him. And he’s probably gonna laugh at my fucked up situation, like he always does.

“Hey, kiddo.”

I don’t respond. I can’t. The only thing I manage to do is try to breath. And weep. Eventually, cough. That’s when he kneels by my side, calloused hands reaching my forehead — which by the way is burning.

“Elliot...”

_What do you want?_

_Don’t you see it?_

_You’ve won already. Just fucking leave me here to die._

“I can’t do that.”

_Yeah. I get it._

_You can’t do that, because that would kill you too._

“That’s not the reason.”

_What is it then?_

He sits by my side, and fuck it friend, I’m lonely. I’ve been so lonely in the past few days that even the warmth of his body, just by the fact he is now sitting by my side, makes me weep even more.

“It’s alright” he murmurs, but I don’t buy it. “I’m here.”

His hand are caressing my forehead, my wet hair. I can’t stop crying, unable to form phrases or thoughts.

You might not believe it, but I’m grateful he’s here. I know he has protected me during the fight, and if it wasn’t for him, things would have gotten even worse. As he strokes my hair in circle movements, I almost remember what having a dad feels like.

Except he’s not my dad.

“I can be whatever you need me to be. That’s why I’m here, kiddo.”

_To play the father?_

_Happy family?_

_Not your style._

“To take care of you.”

I usually feel the sarcasm in his tone, but not this time. This time, it feels... gentle. Kind. Protecting. All that I actually need.

That might be the reason why my body shrinks, still trembling. When he lifts my head and rests it on his lap, I don’t complain. I weep, friend. It’s all I do.

_Why you’re doing this to me?_

_Being so kind?_

_So protective?_

I’m embarrassed. Ashamed. I avoid looking up, avoid eye-to-eye contact, because I’m afraid he realizes how fragile I actually am. But he reads me so well. The warmth of his body passes on to mine when he gently bows over me, covering this wet, shivering body. He smells of old clothes, cigarettes and morphine, and it feels good.

“I promise you” he murmurs in that warm, quiet hug. “We’re gonna get out of here. I’m taking you out, no matter what.”

I desperately reach for his hand, holding it so tight as if my life depended on it. More tears roll on my face, wetting his pants. All I want to do is ask him not to leave.

Ever.

_Take care of me._

_Don’t let me screw things anymore._

_Don’t let me get into trouble anymore, not like this._

_Take over control._

_Please._

“Look at me, kiddo.”

I obey. It’s all I have left.

He usually smirks when I ask him to take over, but not this time. He’s way too concerned about me.

He holds my face between his hands, thumbs fondling my wet cheeks. We’re finally eye-to-eye, and I get his expression: affection. Even love. I’m wet as fuck, trembling in fever and pain, but he’s right here with me. I spot some discrete tears at the corner of his confused eyes, and despite he won’t let go of those tears, I sense them. He’s just as lost as I am, but the protective role is his. He won’t let it go.

He won’t let me give up.

He won’t let me die here.

He’ll save me. Protect me, as he’s always done.

“Yeah, son” his expression finally turns into something different. As he also spots some sort of hope inside be — hope that would have never showed up if it wasn’t for him in first place — he seems relieved. Almost proud.

And worst of all, I finally realize that what I feel for him is not just family affection. It had grown into something else. I’ve been so ashamed to give it a thought, but I finally see it now. Mr. Robot is just confused as I am, but still playing his part.

I might love him.

I do love him.

“I got you, kiddo” he whispers. “I got you.”

I’m under his body. The drops from the ceiling won’t reach me anymore, for he’s covering me. He’s got me. For once in a while, I close my eyes, feeling safe. The remaining tears still roll on my face, but I don’t cry anymore. It will be alright.

We’re gonna get out of here.

And as he finally takes control to take the pain in my place, a smile forms on my cold, cracked lips.


End file.
